


Beside You In Time

by nymphlodes



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: 80's montages, Angst, Existentialism, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Otasune, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Philanthropy, Pre-Slash, Shared Trauma, an overabundance of nine inch nails references, bff roadtrip, bros to boyfriends, davesnake, implied mei ling x meryl, philanthropy origins, post-mgs, pre-mgs2, protective snake, snavid, snotacon - Freeform, this bad boy can fit so much self projection in it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymphlodes/pseuds/nymphlodes
Summary: I have no idea what I'm doing! This fic is basically my take on the origins of Philanthropy - how Snake & Otacon reconnected after Shadow Moses, and the nature and evolution of their relationship, etc. Organization-wise, this fic is a non-linear collection of moments that (hopefully) paint the broad picture of Snake & Otacon's story as I see it. Think Pulp Fiction, only way worse.Please mind the tags - some chapters will feature mentions of gore or trauma & I will always post warnings on each chapter. Last thing - I've been writing this fic in my free time (which is basically just during my commute lmao fuck capitalism), so I apologize for sloppiness. Please leave suggestions for little drabbles or stupid little bonding moments you imagine Snake & Otacon (and others) might partake in. I need more ideas!Anyway, thank you & I hope you enjoy!





	1. The Way Out Is Through

**Author's Note:**

> tw: drug use, gore, violence
> 
> En Medias Res, as they say. Also I'm sorry I'm too lazy to include the html for italics...

Whatever hallucinogens they had forced into Otacon's system were horribly potent. Snake wondered if it was pcp or lsd or some other putrid cocktail as he ran, Otacon thrashing in his arms. He was clutching the writhing man tightly so he wouldn't writhe right out of his arms, but also to keep Otacon's arms bound before he hurt himself more. Whatever sludge was crawling through his brain was making him panic and scream in fear and claw at his face and shoulders, plenty of still bleeding gashes present before Snake had found him. There was one bad gash that would absolutely need stitches by his right eye. He didn't have his glasses on. Maybe he flung them off himself. Or maybe they confiscated them. Snake hoped Otacon had a backup pair, but that was a less urgent problem.

Snake growled inwardly. He needed to stop thinking and focus on the mission--namely, 1. Get Otacon somewhere safe 2. Make sure he doesn't overdose. Then he could worry about the comedown, and addressing those wounds, and the likelihood of withdrawal. And, at some point, his own wounds too. But the mission objective came first. Otacon came first.

“No--no!” Otacon launched into another bout of screams, howling like he was dying, and he maybe was. He was probably afraid of Snake, of everyone and everything, in this state, however contorted everything must be. 

“Stay with me, Otacon stay with me,” he ordered in between the shrieks. Snake kept at it, “Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me,” repeating the mantra. 

Sniper fire, as expected, began to whir past them, missing by a foot, by an inch. But the exit was right there and he knew he could make it--he couldn't risk setting the engineer down so he could return fire. He knew they wouldn't dare hit Otacon, or least not shoot to kill, but even so, it wasn't a risk Snake was willing to take.

Bullets hailed down loudly from multiple vantage points like a shroud. When Otacon began to thrash more violently and yelp, Snake wondered what the gunfire must have sounded like to him. Otacon answered by tearing out of Snake's grasp to claw at his own ears and scalp before Snake could get a decent grip on him, squeezing harder than he wanted to--than he should have to to restrain the wiry man properly. Otacon would be sporting bad bruises for sure.

Better bruised than dead.

“Cut ‘em off at the gate!” And sure enough, men in tactical gear began to swarm, blocking the only fucking exit of the place, guns raised and pointed at his fucking face.

“Give us Dr. Emmerich,” the lead tactician yelled.

“Or?” Snake sneered. Otacon whimpered in his arms.

“Or nothing. You either hand him over unharmed or we shoot and probably hurt him. You're dead both ways, pal.” The man took a step forward. 

“Pal, huh?”

In an instant, Snake hauled Otacon onto his shoulder and snatched something from his belt.

“Been saving this for a rainy day.”

By the time the guards, hired hands, mercenaries, whatever they were, realized a grenade was hurling towards them and that they were utterly fucked, they'd started shooting at the legendary soldier and scientist duo. Snake ducked and turned his back to the fire, curling his body around Otacon who was suddenly very complacent instead of wiggly in his arms.

There was no time to waste when he heard the screams and consequent explosion and consequently more screams. There was his window. The smoke was thick and blinding, full of moans with the occasional flaming body part lighting the way through the now literal hole in their man made barrier. Snake tucked Otacon, whimpering and curled until a ball, to his chest and hauled ass towards the epicenter of the blast. He ignored the slick floor, the occasional bodily chunk in his path, the desperate hands trying to grab at his heels.

Almost out. Just got to--

The handful of men that survived were on them quickly. Were Otacon lucid, Snake was sure he would have said something snarky. I guess they aren't keen on social cues. Or, Damn take a hint. Right now, Otacon was mostly still aside from the twitching. 

Snake kept up with the soldiers coming at him, shooting point blank with his one free arm, Otacon clutched to his chest with the other. Fuck. That was his last grenade and it barely packed the punch he was counting on it to. He kept moving through the rubble he'd created, shooting each guard that still dared approach. How the fuck did they keep coming? The smoke was clearing and then he heard the telltale click of his own gun, and 

“FUCK!” he screamed and threw his gun at the nearest guy's face, whipping out the knife that was harnessed on his thigh. He managed to slice the hands that reached towards him--towards Otacon, as well as faces and really anything he could reach.

Someone pulled on his bandana, another person at his arm, and hair. And then someone grabbed the scruff of Otacon's shirts and tugged him but Snake sliced clean through their wrist before they could pull Otacon out of his arms. 

But unfortunately, the next guy managed to. Five other men were pulling Snake in different directions, but mostly downward until one of them trapped him in a headlock. His knife--what happened to his knife? Snake, for all of his natural and unnatural strength, couldn't free himself--the bastard was clenching his neck hard. He estimated roughly one minute thirty seconds until he would likely pass out. 

All at once he felt someone wrench his arm open while someone else ripped Otacon from his snug hold. Otacon yelped and tried to thrash at the men dragging him crudely, but whatever strength he'd had was long gone by now. There's no way he could focus, let alone see or hold any kind of awareness, but Otacon still managed to cry “Dave!” slurred, but loud enough for Snake to hear.

And that's when Snake screamed, sounding every bit as monstrous as he felt, ripped his arms out of the hands that held them, kicked full force at whoever's groin that was, and headbutted the fucking bastard behind the headlock. The noise it made was satisfying, especially when he saw the chunk of severed tongue fall from the man's mouth. 

In three large strides he was upon the men that had Otacon somewhat pinned down, trying to--inject him with something. That is until Snake knocked two of their heads together with a loud crack and approached the one with the syringe. Long story short, the syringe found a new host, and if that particular thug lived, he would never see out of his left eye again. Of course, he wouldn't live. But that didn't matter because Otacon was right there on the cold, blood slick concrete, convulsing in this way that made Snake's skin crawl.

He hoisted Otacon's body back into his arms and bolted for the exit just as a piercing alarm began to echo from behind. There would be more goons trying coming after them, no doubt. 

Otacon was moaning an awful, wounded noise, and while he wasn't screaming anymore, he was clearly starting to hyperventilate. His eyes were glazed and wide, and they darted in every direction, seeing god only knows what. 

“Otacon--” Snake barked between breaths, sprinting with all his might. “Otacon--come on, stay with me! Hal--stay with me!” He clutched the moaning engineer tighter and nearly screamed OH THANK FUCK when he saw the perfectly nondescript delivery truck backing its way towards them. Mei Ling. Bless her.

As the truck approached, Meryl jumped out and dashed past Snake, assault rifle in hand. 

“Get in quick!” she yelled over her shoulder and then open fired wildly behind them. Bless her too.

With a shout, Snake leapt the last few feet into the open hatch of the cargo bed, Meryl close behind.

“GO GO GO!” she screamed, now inside, continuing her assault from the hatch door.

“Hold on you guys!” They heard Mei Ling chime from the cab before the truck lurched violently into a building speed. All the while Meryl didn't miss a beat, mowing down every operative she could see. She'd be damned if anyone was going to ruin their rescue mission.

Mostly confident they had everything under control, Snake finally slumped against the cargo wall, feeling his adrenaline starting to decay. Breathing hard, he slid down the wall until he sat, legs sprawled out and back to the wall. He situated Otacon on his lap and cradled him between bent knees. They weren't out of the woods yet if Otacon's gagging and gasping for air was any indication.

“Nno--nnghaahh--D-dave--!” Otacon managed between choking. Tears poured from his fear filled eyes.

“I'm here, buddy, I'm here--it's me, it's Dave,” Snake spoke into his ear, squeezing Otacon's back flush with his own chest. “Stay with me!”

Staywithmestaywithmestaywithmestaywithmestaywithmestaywi


	2. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the start.

**One year prior.**

Meryl had left a month or so ago. Or maybe it was two months? Or six. Time in Alaska moved differently than it did in other places, like time didn’t exist at all. Meryl had hated it and had been quite vocal about it. The short, dreary, snowcast days and the long, unrelenting nights… But that was just the start of it.

Gloved hands gripping tightly to the lead, Snake barked his next order to the dogs around the unlit cigarette pursed between his lips. Supplies were low, so begrudgingly he rode on, his 12 huskies racing their way towards the closest sleepy town, roughly an hour’s trip. Rations and supplies were how he managed the concept of time, and how he dictated when to come and go. He didn’t need structure and civilization the way Meryl craved it. The bare necessities and his dogs were enough to sustain him.

So she left. And he didn't blame her.

Snake kept his eyes fixed on the path, ignoring the whiplash of wind and how it made his eyes water. When they made it into town, he left his pups outside the general store, a little smug knowing they needed no tether to stay put, that they trusted him him to come back. And he would. Funny how loyalty felt like love, or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it was the same thing. He tried not to think about the fact that he couldn't actually distinguish the two, or that maybe that's what bothered Meryl so much.

“Hey, are you Moses?”

The voice came from entirely too close to Snake for his liking. He spun on his heel, all but dropping the eggs and beer tucked under his arms. He thought he may have heard one of the eggs crack in his grasp.

“What?” 

The kindly old man that regarded him--the cashier evidently--cleared his throat and blinked absently. 

“Young man, are you Moses?” 

“Moses?” What the fuck?

For a second he worried he'd said that out loud. Was this guy having a stroke or something? But he asked it so earnestly and seemed mostly lucid. 

“Fella called damn near dozen times this month for someone named Moses, said he'd look a lot like you. Bandana, mean face, Rambo looking fella. I'd say you're it, son.” He chuckled inaudibly and coughed.

Snake stared hard, felt how easily he slipped into high alert. This wasn't right.

“What is this?” he demanded more than asked. There were at least five cracked eggs at this point, he was sure.

“Now don't you go fussing at me kid, I didn't ask to be a messenger,” the man chided, white mustache crumpled. “That yahoo called himself Shadow or something, beats me.”

In an instant Snake saw every person--every unconscious, blood sodden guard, Ocelot, Sniper Wolf, Liquid, Meryl--all of them.

Fuck

Who the fuck was trying to contact him. Campbell swore he'd leave Snake alone. After all of the lies, there was no chance in hell he'd ever work with that bastard again, and Campbell knew it. 

“Well?” The impatient tap of the old man brought him back out of his head. His jaw was like a vice. It made his teeth ache. 

“Sonny are you gonna call your friend back or what? I don't want him calling tying up the phone line. This is our only line y'know, next one’s all the way in Anchorage.”

Against his better judgment, Snake walked in the direction the old man gestured at, where a small back room revealed itself. There was a newspaper stand and one very rusted payphone on the wall. A young woman was just hanging up the payphone and regarded Snake with fear. She made a quick exit shuffling by him and his brain supplied him with the image of Meryl trekking here, using this phone to call someone to get her the fuck out of this place.

He peered at the scrawl of numbers on the scrap of paper the old man had handed him. He eventually dialed the numbers after checking the parameter a minimum of five times. He would not be taken off guard. Not a fucking option.

The line crackled, reminiscent of fire, which wasn't comforting as he waited for the pick up. After two more tries, the other side finally clicked in answer. 

Snake said nothing. But heard--

Breathing. No, panting. 

“Snake--! Snake--help me--!”

Snake felt the blood drain from his limbs to pool at his feet. Shadow Moses was a full year ago at least, but he knew that voice, distinct as the memories that followed.

“Otacon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, this follows the Meryl ending of mgs. I promise, it's a vital plot point!
> 
> Also: If you were wondering if every title will be Nine Inch Nails related-- ** _you bet your sweet ass it will._**


	3. Somewhat Damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins the road trip.

Funny how unexpected Otacon's musical tastes were. He expected the weird Japanese anime music, and even though Snake didn't know what k-pop was, he wasn't surprised by it. But the moody punk, bass-heavy synthesizer, and grating metal music caught him off guard somehow. He supposed maybe it clashed with the image of Dr. Hal Emmerich, whom Snake had maybe spent a grand total of 48 hours in person with, the same man that smiled awkwardly when he didn't know what to say and who hid behind the thickest specs Snake had ever seen, who soiled himself and wept openly the first day they'd met.

So yeah, it was jarring to say the least, after an hour of silent driving and failed conversation on their maiden voyage road trip, when Hal whipped out his overflowing CD book (which he had REFUSED to leave without despite being an active target for abduction in the midst of being, well, abducted), plucked a CD and inserted into the deck of their rental.

“I think you'll like this,” he said. “But tell me if you don't.”

Snake preferred silence, but decided to at least give it a minute before telling Otacon so. But he was...intrigued? Minute two and three flew by and maybe Snake didn't mind this...music. Or maybe he liked that Otacon wasn't as predictable as he'd thought.

“Seems kind of angry for you.”

Otacon huffed a laugh. “Yeah because I'm all sunshine and rainbows.”

They didn't talk much, and just let the disc barrel through its contents as they drove, heading south towards the safe house Mei Ling had arranged for them. 

“You know what's funny,” Otacon said somewhat quietly. Snake could just hear him over the wailing in the song. “I grew up with this, well, like in a teenager young adult way,” he gestured to the CD deck, “but ever since Shadow Moses, it reminds me of you for some reason.”

Snake didn't say anything to that admission, opting to file it away for later. He imagined a file cabinet in his head, one of smaller folders labeled “Otacon,” gradually filling with paper. Otacon was...interesting. Brilliant, even. But maybe not the kind of guy you'd peg as the creator of the most dangerous, mass murdering tech in the modern world. 

Snake repeated the thought out loud and this time it was Otacon who remained silent, watching evergreens pass by in a blur. Maybe that struck a nerve.

“Lighten up,” Snake said and thought it came out harder than it needed to be. “Everyone’s done something they regret later on. That's why we're doing this.” Whatever this was. Teaming up to take down and destroy all traces of Metal Gear so no one else could…

Otacon nodded, but again said nothing. In his periphery Snake saw the engineer relax slightly as the next and last song began. He radiated a solemn air which fit the quiet anger and regret of the lyrics as they poured out. For a second Snake imagined what teenage Otacon would look like (skinnier and even more awkward he surmised). Maybe he was an angry child. He hadn't mentioned much about Huey Emmerich, but Snake could sense a tension there whenever it was brought up. He saw a little angry Otacon in his room, tinkering with stuff like the prodigal mad scientist Snake was sure he was, listening to emotionally volatile music to ease his mind. 

“Are we doing this for revenge?” Otacon asked, still somewhere far away.

“Maybe. Or maybe redemption.”

Otacon was looking straight ahead but Snake could see the painfully sober shame on his face. He turned to face Snake.

“Me, I get, but why do you need redemption? You're the only one that did the right thing at Shadow Moses.”

For existing. The thought felt tangibly heavy in his brain. But this was no time for existential dread. They had a safe house to get to and he needed to keep Otacon safe from whoever was hunting him.

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Otacon.”

The engineer shot him a quizzical look.

“Even ‘Solid Snake’?”

“Especially Solid Snake.”

At this point the CD had looped and began to replay, already half way through the first track. It took Otacon a while to notice.

“Sorry,” he muttered, reaching for the eject button on the console, startled when Snake smacked his hand away.

“Keep it,” he said and Otacon raised a bushy eyebrow from under his glasses. “You’re right, I do like it.” It wasn't a lie. And it clearly lightened Otacon's mood, seeing as he smiled more genuinely than Snake had seen, even if it was small and shy, almost as if he were embarrassed. 

Another page for the file.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to the album in question? Hint: the chapter title is not a hint.
> 
> Oops I'm predictable


	4. The Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the fuck was Solid Fucking Snake sobbing on the floor of their kitchen, holding onto Otacon for dear life? He squeezed back and wondered if anyone had ever comforted Snake before. Had even thought to.
> 
> TW for implied self harm/mental breakdown.

Otacon was sure Episode I would have been the deterrent--the one that would make Snake say “This is bullshit, I'm out,” because, well, everyone hated The Phantom Menace. But to his surprise, it was Episode II that Snake couldn't finish before shoving off to his room. The door slamming was a nice touch. 

Otacon smirked, ejecting the VHS and tossing it onto their reject pile on the piss-yellow shag carpet. But it wasn't until hour three since Snake had wordlessly ducked out that Otacon got the hint. Something was wrong. 

He knew Snake was a good guy that liked pizza and beer and terrible 80’s movies and that he was literally the reason Otacon wasn't dead or otherwise, but even so, approaching him was nerve wracking. Otacon had seen firsthand, more than a few times, what Snake was capable of. He was truly incredible and, in Otacon's humble opinion, surpassed the legends surrounding him, and frankly Big Boss too (although when Otacon mentioned that to Snake, he grimaced and said nothing, so Otacon dropped it. If there was anything he could empathize with, it was daddy issues, so no harm no foul.).

But. He didn't want to be a dick. Snake was always indulging him with his obscure animes and science fiction, and the Star Wars prequels were meant to be a joke anyway… The least he could do was apologize for putting him through it.

Otacon gathered his courage and let out a deep breath before approaching the rickety door to Snake's room in their particularly shabby excuse for an apartment. He cleared his throat and knocked. After a moment he knocked again. And again.

“Hey, uh, Snake?” he called through the wood. “I'm sorry, man. Even I don't like the first episodes...I was kinda waiting for you to tell me you hated it.”

The other side was still quiet. Was he...mad? That was a scary thought. Snake wasn't big on emotions, but being the target of his anger sounded…

“Hey...seriously though, I'm sorry.”

Nothing. 

“Why don't we watch the Terminator? Or T2? I have bootleg copies that are pretty legit.” Those were some of Snake's favorites. And yet, nothing.

At this point Otacon was wringing his hands just to keep them moving, keep them occupied. 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

…

“Snake?”

After 20 minutes of anxiously making his way through every possible explanation, Otacon, against his better judgment, decided to enter. What if Snake were ill? What if he needed medical attention? What if the foxdie--

Otacon opened the door, a little surprised it wasn't locked. And when he saw Snake, he

Didn't see Snake. At all. Anywhere. The room was small, no closet, mattress on the floor. No sign of the man, save for an unopened package of cigarettes on the bedside table. The window wasn't open, but it also wasn't locked either. And that's when Otacon noticed their shitty rental car wasn't parked on the street anymore. 

Oh.

He didn't know what that meant, but couldn't stop the anxious churn of his stomach regardless. Was it really that bad?

Snake didn't return all night, during which time Otacon tried to work and gain Intel on their latest lead. But that was difficult with the looming feeling that he had fucked up somehow.

Don't worry about him. He's a grown ass man. He probably just thinks you're annoying. You are annoying. What did you do? Is he okay? What if he's hurt? What if he hates you?

Otacon groaned and smeared his fingers through his unruly, and frankly greasy, hair. A shower would help him relax. 

Well, almost. But at least he was now anxious and clean. 

He was toweling off his hair when he heard the front door shut, shaking most of the walls. The sun was just starting to color the sky, so what was that, ten hours?

Act cool, act cool. Otacon definitely didn't run out to see Snake entering the dimly lit kitchen. Thankfully, he remembered to dress first this time.

Snake looked at him, looked...awful, and shut the door behind him. Bloodshot eyes, deep bags beneath them, skin caked in dried sweat and what Otacon hoped wasn't dried blood on his fingers. Otacon more or less expected Snake not to regard him and stalk off to his room again without so much as a grunt of hello, but he kept his stare. The word forlorn popped into Otacon's head and stuck. What the fuck…

Before Otacon could say anything, Snake broke their gaze and looked to the floor. He backed up to the cabinets and slid downwards until he was sitting, legs out, seemingly boneless.

“Snake?”

The soldier said nothing, but kind of curled into himself, casting his face in shadow.

Otacon approached slowly.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Was he pale?

“Snake, I've never seen you look so…” helpless.

That's when he noticed the wet glimmer of tears starting to creep down the man's chin, the subtle quiver that followed. Snake mashed his dirty hands over his eyes. A vibrating gasp escaped his throat and then the shuddering began.

Otacon couldn't stop himself. He sunk down to his knees and scooted over to his friend, actively shushing the voice in his head that kept saying how reckless this was.

You're approaching a wounded animal. He's cornered. He'll hurt you. He'll--

No. 

He's my friend. He needs me.

Without thinking, Otacon wrapped his arms around Snake's hunched form and squeezed. It startled him when Snake fell completely into the embrace, squeezing back hard and finding purchase in the crook of the engineer's neck, into the mess of Otacon’s still-wet hair. He shook, not holding back now, making noises that made Otacon blink back his own tears.

How the fuck was Solid Fucking Snake sobbing on the floor of their kitchen, holding onto Otacon for dear life? He squeezed back and wondered if anyone had ever comforted Snake before. Had even thought to.

“Oh god--fuck,” Snake moaned into Otacon's clavicle. “It's all so fucking--Hal I c-can't do this anymore--”

“Snake?” They so rarely used their real names. Otacon always thought they used aliases for safety, his safety at least. Maybe it was for distance, a different kind of safety. But now. Now--

“What am I, Hal?” the sob came low. 

What?

“You're Snake--Solid Snake. And you're my friend David.” Otacon--Hal rubbed circles into Snake's muscular back, feeling knot after knot, until Snake retracted with one swift movement. His grip on Hal's shoulders was too tight but Hal said nothing.

Snake ducked his head, arms still locked onto Hal, and just breathed, letting tears fall and soak into his olive green cargos. The motion gave Hal a frontal view of Snake's scalp, where blood was caked in lines, mostly hidden by thick brown hair.

Oh.

The image of Snake hurting himself seemed wrong on so many levels. But maybe that was just the legend talking. Everyone had their demons, and Hal was no different. It wasn’t the first time he’d suspected--given everything Snake had been through, the people he'd killed, the missions ongoing--that he suffered from PTSD. 

Shame sat heavy in Hal's stomach. He was no different than every other worthless asshole in the world that assumed Solid Snake was without emotions, pain, or flaw. He was incredible, yeah, but he was a person too. He deserved comfort and reassurance.

“No.” Snake choked out, voice thick, still facing the ground.

“Dave?”

“Not ‘who,’” David said, low and strained.

Hal tried to peek at David's face but David scooted, back against the cabinets again. Jaw pointed up, head resting on cheap wood, he laughed. Hal thought it sounded worse than sobbing.

“Hey,” he dared scoot closer. Bleeding heart bastard. “What's going on?”

A pained smile. Anger in the lines of his face and posture. Despair in those blue, bloodshot eyes. David met Hal's stare.

“What do you know about Big Boss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I won't let you fall apart_
> 
>  
> 
> For context, Star Wars Episode II is _Attack of the Clones_ :(


	5. We're In This Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're Just 2 Philanthropists Having A Good Time

“Okay Snake, you need to infiltrate cargo bay four without being caught, but you'll need to use corridor B instead of A. Do you remember the route?”

“Central air duct, drop through med bay, elevator shaft down to platform five, corridor B, bay four. Extraction point bay five.”

“ _Why do I even ask anymore?_ Alright, I'll be your eyes while you're on site. I rerouted the camera feed to transmit straight into the van. Their security office is playing a looped reel--a seamless loop if I do say so myself--so no one will see you except me. The only place I won't be be able to see you is in the ductwork, so be extra careful through there. Well--be careful everywhere too but just, you, especially--just be careful Snake. This is a stealth mission, so take your time. Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Otacon.”

“Yes Snake?”

“You ask because you're a good strategist. And a good friend.”

“Snake that's…but, I uh, you, just… Thanks. Thank you. Snake.”

“You're bad at taking compliments.”

“And fuzzy moment ruined, thanks. It's showtime, so stop laughing. Snake, come on! UGH.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little shorter, but I'll try to post the next one soon. Enjoy!


	6. Heresy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You were their chance to play God. Frankenstein's monster." Or, in which I suck at Ocelot's characterization oopsie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fam - sorry for my prolonged absence in updating! This summer has held some of my darkest times, and long story short, I ended up making the decision to quit my job to escape my emotionally abusive supervisor. I'll be taking the next few weeks to recover and job hunt and hopefully update much more frequently. _It be like that sometimes_.
> 
> Anywhom, thank you for your patience and for all the wonderful comments. You bitches get me, you really do. I'll big ugly kiss you all with more stupid fanfiction !

“‘m fuckin g nauseous…” he heard Hal mutter, groggy and barely conscious anymore. 

Yeah, nauseous felt about right. They'd been hanging upside down and side by side, ankles bound by shackles, as far as he could tell, for what, maybe 30 minutes? An hour? The fuck if he knew.

“Comfy?” The clack of boots came from behind. Of course it was fucking Ocelot. It was always fucking Ocelot.

“Let Dr. Emmerich go,” Snake growled, a hoarse, dry sound compared to his usual gravel. “You already have the plans for a new Metal Gear--you don't need to keep him here.”

Hal protested but Snake nudged him with an elbow--about all he could do with bound hands--to shut him up. 

By this point Ocelot had clacked his way around to face them.

“Ever the noble Solid Snake,” Ocelot leered, face to face with Snake, albeit upside down. “Didn't your mother ever tell you that compassion makes you weak? Though, I suppose you would actually require a mother for that.” 

“F-fuckk y ou--” Hal, to his credit, looked like he could spew at any moment, and somehow it didn't detract from the anger in his voice. Snake nudged him again, _shut up._

“Struck a nerve did I,” Ocelot now regarded Hal, grinning. “How does it feel, knowing your partner is a product? A simulation? That everything you know about him is artifice?” He suckerpunched Hal dead in the chest and laughed at the guttural gasp that followed.

“Liquid's dead so you need another ‘Big Boss’ goon under your thumb, don't you?” Snake barked. “That's your game, isn't it?”

“You're a clever dog aren’t you?” Ocelot hit Hal again, and this time Hal's desperate coughs sprinkled the floor with red. All the while, Ocelot kept Snake's stare.

“You have me right where you want me, just like you planned. Come on,” Snake kept himself tempered and even, but that furious edge was noticeable all the same. He needed to get Hal out of here.

Ocelot whirled his gun around his pointer finger slowly, ever the showman, before Snake heard the THWACK of meat and bone connecting with the revolver. In all honesty, he was beginning to panic. Otacon-Hal wasn't trained to withstand torture like he was. He wouldn't last. And right now, his overall quietness amid haggard breaths frightened Snake. 

Continuing the swirl of the gun, taunting and slow, Ocelot regarded Snake once more.

“And why would I want the lesser copy?”

Lesser copy?

“The reject,” Ocelot clacked his way back over towards Hal. Snake heard the crunch of glass underfoot, immediately adding a mostly blind Hal to his current escape calculations. Calculations that looked more and more like pretty fiction. “The expenditure, the discarded model, whatever you want to call it. You exist solely because they wanted a vessel to experiment with. What would happen if they took all of Big Boss's generic shortcomings--the undesirable traits and stuck them into a carbon copy? Liquid Snake was their magnum opus, but you,” he stepped back to stand in front of Snake, digging the gun's barrel into Snake' bare side, “you were their chance to play God. Frankenstein's monster.”

The rush of blood through Snake's head was deafening, overwhelming when paired with how overly hot his skin felt in that moment. 

“But Liquid said--”

Ocelot dug in harder, 

“There was nothing to gain from telling him the truth. A tactical lie, they called it. Liquid was the perfect soldier after all, perfectly manipulable, desperate to succeed and to overcome any obstacle in his path no matter the cost. Making him believe he was lesser only drove him to push harder, unafraid and unrestrained.” Something melancholic rung in his voice.

This time, the butt of the revolver plowed into Snake's head.

“There is no way you should have killed him. It shouldn't be possible--you lack everything he was.” Another blow to the face.

“Liquidd was a c-cocky bastardd.” 

“Hal--” _Shut up--what are you doing?_

But Ocelot's face lightened. He let out an unexpected laugh and Snake could even see Hal's surprise despite the blood and swelling, the obviously broken nose. 

“Yes,” the man was beaming, “he was proud.” Affection dripped from each word and Snake wondered what Liquid must have been to him if not a lackey. “Proud, egotistical, self assured. He needed nothing. No encouragement, no one to hold his hand, to slow him down,” he walked to Hal again, “to depend on.” He prodded Hal's very fucked up nose, earning a yowl and hiss.

“What is your game, old man?” Snake's voice rang out louder than it needed to, but he needed to get Ocelot away from Hal.

“Game? No game,” he rounded back to Snake, languorous clacks echoing, mocking. “You might call it petty revenge. Liquid Snake was snuffed out by the very inverse of himself.” He swirled the gun again. “Tell me, David, have you ever wondered why you're attracted to men?” Ocelot landed another blow to the soldier's face. “Why you're unstable, prone to nightmares, psychotic episodes.” And another. “Why you were raised to be a government scapegoat--a regular G.I. Joe.” Another. And another until blood began to travel into Snake's eyes, trailing into his hair at gravity's will, not that it mattered. Everything stung the same. “They purged the lesser traits of Big Boss and infused you with them just to see what would happen--just to see what they could make and how it could be used.”

Snake coughed, ignoring the coppery taste of his tongue. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?” 

Ocelot smiled and pulled the safety back.

“I'm not without mercy,” he said in thick drawl, pointing the gun to Snake's temple until the tip touched his forehead. “Even you deserve the truth.”

Hal shifted, stifling a groan. “Y-yeah wwell if Liquidd was so fuckkingg p-perfecct why is he ddead?” He croaked out, and Snake fought the panic. He knew Hal was offering a diversion, a distraction for Ocelot, but still, the risk was just so

True to his reputation, Ocelot had the gun at Hal's head quicker than the engineer could even register, but it was enough of a gap for Snake to take advantage. The most recent blow Ocelot had given him was a doozy, but it had also been the perfect situational camouflage for Snake to dislocate his thumb. So as Ocelot responded to Hal's snidery, finger on the trigger, prepared to utterly snuff Hal's life out, Snake made his move and ripped his hand from bondage. 

Many things happened in that one moment, barely a full second. Ocelot pulled the trigger. Hal screamed, guttural and deep. Blood exploded in a fine spray. Snake gripped a chunk of Ocelot's hair, no longer attached to the old man's head.

A beat later, Ocelot shrieked, hand groping at his own bleeding scalp, other hand still gripping the gun. He spun towards the soldier. Snake grabbed the gun's barrel in his free hand, thumb still limp, just in time to deflect the next shot downwards, away from his face. He then shoved the gun backwards, smashing the butt into Ocelot's nose, earning a hiss. It was enough to fully snatch the gun from the man. Ocelot lurched at Snake, but Snake was faster. He flipped the gun in hand and shot out both of the man's kneecaps with two quick pops. And as Ocelot yowled in shock, Snake crushed the firearm into the side of his temple with as much force as he could muster. If the blow didn't kill him (like he would be so lucky), the concussion would at least fuck him up for a while. 

Snake heard Hal's ragged moans beside him. Good. He was still conscious.

Ocelot, however, was far from it. He was slumped over below Snake, and with a very strenuous stretch, Snake grabbed the old man's remaining white locks with his fingers, pulling his limp body upward. After a few attempts, Snake finally managed to grasp the keys hooked onto Ocelot's belt, wondering vaguely why this man was such a fucking cliche. And since when had his arm grown back?

He first unlocked the remaining handcuff before straining upwards to unlatch the shackles. His fall was less than graceful, but the cool floor was a welcome sensation--peaceful and disorienting like the blood that was rushing back to his legs.

In a flash he was on his feet and at Hal's side, taking a brief moment to snap his thumb back into its socket. 

Hal was...alive, mostly. Alive but absolutely wrecked and absolutely blood-soaked. Looked like the bullet passed through his arm, just below the shoulder--a clean shot, great news logistically speaking. Pain-wise, not so much. Snake examined the wound carefully before reaching up to unlock Hal's shackles, supporting the engineer's back. This way, Hal fell into Snake instead of the floor. Still, he couldn't avoid releasing the lock without jostling Hal's mangled arm.

“-j-jeeesus fUck--ah-h fucking chhrist--ahhugh--” Hal fought to suppress to urge to yelp, mostly hissing and grunting expletives as Snake lowered him into his arms and then to the ground. He was panting hard, likely still in shock and dizzy, especially now that the world was right side up again.

Snake sat with him awhile so Hal could sit up, leaning against him as Snake kept pressure on the bullet wound. He let Hal just breathe awhile. Until

“I fuckingg hate that gguy,” Hal said after a while and Snake...busted out laughing, startling the engineer who jumped and then winced. But Snake couldn't help the absolute rumble in his chest, how it made its way out so easily. God it felt good.

Hal looked at him, wide eyed, delirious, but something else lived there too, in his expression. 

Snake thought, Snake hoped it might be fondness.

Hal smiled, looking utterly abysmal--broken nose covered in half-dried blood that was frankly all over his face, and the swelling along with it. Snake really couldn't compose himself and after a minute, Hal joined in, pained and wincing every other second.

“Godd, Ssnake,” he muttered, still wince-smiling. “You wwon't laugh when we wwatch Dragon Ball, but you'll laugh--at--this--douchebagg---” Now Hal was cracking up, at least to an extent. He eased back, fully relaxing against Snake as they both settled down.

Whatever this moment was, Snake decided it was good. Yeah, it was always generally agreeable, not dying, but not dying with your best friend felt special. Maybe this qualified as bonding. Maybe that was a stupid thought, and maybe it wasn't the right moment since they still needed to make their escape. But for that moment, Snake decided they could risk it.


	7. The Good Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months they'd cohabited. Two awkward, eggshell-walking months before Otacon found out about the nightmares.

Two months they'd cohabited. Two awkward, eggshell-walking months before Otacon found out about the nightmares.

Really, it was because of their newest hideout. Another dingey, hole-in-the-wall apartment, but this time, a crumbling studio with only a shoebox of a bathroom for privacy. At least their last place was a one bedroom. Otacon hadn't minded the couch, happy to offer Snake the bedroom. His night owl tendencies and less-than-strictly-ethical work-binging habits kept him up most of the time anyway. No sense in wasting the bed.

He opted for the couch again this time out of habit, not that it mattered; the mattress literally laid on the floor behind it. When they entered the new...dump, Snake didn't seem bothered by it, focusing instead on securing the location and checking for vulnerable areas. Otacon watched him with interest. 

Snake walked the perimeter methodically, touching parts of the walls and window panes, taking mental notes of their integrity, or something, Otacon imagined. He closed every blind and curtain and then went about opening each cabinet door and vent cover--even the fucking toilet seat and reserve were suspect. The whole charade felt ludicrous to Otacon, but he dared not laugh or comment, he didn't want Snake to… He wasn't exactly sure. Otacon wasn't afraid of Snake per se, well--obviously Snake was scary in his capabilities and drive, but he seemed… What did he seem?

Up to this point, Otacon only knew a handful of things about Solid Snake: 1) he used to have a lot of dogs as a musher in Alaska, which meant Snake probably liked dogs 2) he was introverted, or at least anti-social, aka not a people person, something Otacon could appreciate 3) his dad was Big Boss and his brother was Liquid Snake--both on the Do-Not-Bring-Up list Otacon kept in his head 4) he was willing to team up with Otacon to hunt down and destroy all traces of Metal Gear--enough that he even rescued Otacon when he was--yeah, and 5) he didn't mind listening to industrial metal in the car.

It was a good summation so far. Maybe that meant they were friends? If Snake did that kind of thing. It was still unclear. Snake was very unclear. All the time. Who was Otacon kidding; Solid Snake didn't want to be buddies. Why would he? He hardly knew the guy and by any indication, Snake preferred it that way.

Well, you know more him than most.

Except probably Meryl. 

Oh--shit. Meryl. Didn't they--hadn't they--Otacon was sure they'd--

“Hey didn’t you and Meryl leave Shadow Moses together?” He blurted out like the fucking idiot he was. And he knew he was because Snake froze, just for a second, before getting back to securing the unit.

“Yes,” he said, unreadable.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Uh, sorry,” Otacon said, quickly opening one of his (many) boxes of wires and electronics, just diving right in. 

After several (awkward anxious agonizing) minutes of silence, Otacon manically rebuilding his main computer, Snake appeared to finish his inspection. He grabbed his own drab duffle and slugged it onto the kitchen table, pulling out eight different firearms, a clean gray t-shirt, black sweatpants, a toothbrush, a half empty cab of whiskey, a new carton of marlboros, and a book. Incredible.

Otacon, chest-deep in his own wiry tangle (so what if it felt safe?) jumped when he heard Snake's ever gravelly voice come from behind.

“It didn't work out,” the soldier muttered, towering over Otacon whiskey in hand, nevermind that it was ten a.m.

Otacon looked up through his glasses and mop of frizzy hair to regard Snake. 

“Oh--I'm sorry. To hear. That.”

Oh, smooth.

Snake shrugged and took a swig.

“Happens,” he said and wondered to the bathroom, turning on the shower.

That night, Otacon, a being of pure caffeine, was uncharacteristically tired for once in his frantic life. Must have been the long drive, he mused as he felt himself fade, the couch threatening to swallow him whole, laptop still whirring on his lap. It did.

Until the scream.

One time, as a child, Otacon stuck his hand into a light switch socket before the white plate had been screwed into place. He remembered the jolt that shot up his arm and the radiating sting that followed, crying for his father who

Well, this felt a lot like that had. A shot of electricity, a gasp and sting as the scream found him in his empty dream, ripping him out of himself. He bolted upright onto his feet and narrowly caught the laptop that went flying. 

Did someone break in? There’s no way, not with Snake--

When the second scream hit, he realized it was Snake, which conceptually sounded so wrong. Otacon scrambled for his glasses before peering over the couch to the mattress, holding his breath as he did.

Snake's eyes were shut tight, face in a full-on grimace, teeth bared and grunting, breathing so hard like he couldn't breathe at all. What…

A cry, “no--no NO--” followed by more grunting and choking. His hair was damp with sweat, and he just seemed so scared, how could Otacon not

“Snake,” he whispered, on his haunches, scooting closer. “Snake wake up.” More cries. “Snake--hey--” he reached an arm out to jostle the man, but only made it about half way before a searing pain erupted, making the engineer yelp.

Snake's hand felt like a vice on his wrist, and his eyes--blazen, wild, fixed on him like-like--

Otacon couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and oh god it burned so fucking bad. It took him a second to realize why.

“--s-S-ss-nkk-ke-” he couldn't believe it. He was actually about to die by the hands of the man who'd saved him twice now--by the closest person he had to a friend. What fucked up, cosmic irony was this? He tried to slither out more syllables, but Snake was clenching so tight--

So many fucking thoughts shooting off. Why? Am I going to die? What did I do? Is he asleep? So this is what being strangled to death feels like.

And there was the blurred vision, the lightheartedness. God his own body felt so heavy.

“--sn-k---s-snk--!” He started pushing his hands into Snake's face--WAKE UP GOD PLEASE WAKE UP--he dug his nails into Snake's face, tried to pull at his bangs, pushed into those haunting blue eyes, so empty--

Snake was disappearing, and so was the apartment. Everything was fading and burning and starting to change shape. So this is what dying feels like.

With every ounce of strength he could possibly muster, Otacon began to thrash and kick. His hands were still grabbing at Snake's face but the soldier was unmoving. Otacon kicked in every direction, landing blows to Snake's legs and stomach until finally, one random blow hit Snake between the legs and his grip released.

The burning constriction wasn't much different than the cold burn of air that rushed into this throat upon release. He fell from where Snake had propped him up by the neck, landing on the mattress, coughing and wheezing and--when had his eyes teared up? Foggily he wondered if he had died after all. But when his vision returned, he realized maybe he hadn't.

Still blurry, his eyes eventually found Snake, who was looking right back at him, only he looked...petrified. Eyes wide, face pale, mouth agape. Another look that didn't seem to fit the Solid Snake. 

“Otacon, I…” the words died on his tongue, gruff but clearly shaken. Otacon realized he'd never seen Snake scared before, in fact, he hadn't been sure it was possible. But maybe that was it; the man with nothing to fear feared himself--some straight up poetic justice shit. 

Otacon tried to speak, or squeak, or make any intelligible noise, but haggard wheezing was all it amounted to. Snake was up and gone in a flash, and then suddenly there was a glass of water at his lips and an arm pushing him to sit up. The water stung but oh man he was thirsty and fuck that hit the spot, until he sputtered, choked, and began coughing uncontrollably.

He was undoubtedly a sight, hunched over hacking, tears still leaking their way from the corner of his eyes, but the warm hand rubbing faint circles on his back did not go unnoticed. 

“I haven't...done that...in a long time.” Snake whispered, all rasp, pulling away once Otacon had settled his coughing. Uncertainty. That's what it was. The hollow sound in Snake's voice. 

“Otacon...I'm so.” Otacon pivoted slowly until he saw the other man, face consumed by his hands. “I'm so fucking sorry. I just. I'm.” He shook his head, smearing his hands over his face and into his hair. “Fuck. Are you okay?” He turned back to Otacon and God, those eyes. The guilt was palpable. 

What was Otacon supposed to do with this new information? That Solid fucking Snake could be…

Vulnerable?

“Uh,” a croak, “yeah I think so.” Fuck that burns.

Snake's jaw visibly tightened and he rose once again. “We need to keep ice on it.” He was already in the kitchen, rifling through drawers it sounded like. Otacon just sat there in a haze on the stiff mattress, wondering for probably the tenth time whether this entire scenario was even real. Absently, he touched his throat and yeah. It was real. 

And suddenly Snake was there, a perfect phantom beside him, makeshift ice-pack in hand, so fast and silent on his heels that Otacon flinched. He saw Snake's expression fall (further even) as the soldier placed the pack around his neck with startling gentility.

“Just light pressure,” Snake murmured as Otacon brought his own hands to support the ice-pack. “Don't want to hurt it more.” He trailed off, barely audible by the end. 

They sat there in darkness, in silence for a long time, Otacon icing his neck, wondering what colors the bruises would be the next day. Passing cars filled the quiet and shone yellow light on the filthy walls.

What now? 

“I think I should give you some space,” Snake said abruptly, getting up, wringing fingers through his hair again. It was starting to get long, curling at the nape of his neck, especially from the dried sweat. He was already shoving his boots on when Otacon's brain finally caught up.

Otacon opened his mouth to speak, but another cough emerged instead. He grasped for the glass of water Snake left for him and chugged it mercilessly, only realizing Snake was long gone by the time he set the empty glass down. 

Sleep found him. And eventually, so did the light that poured through tattered blinds, rousing Otacon from a deep unconsciousness. However, before he opened his eyes, there was that awful reminder--swallowing what felt like broken glass. Oh yeah.

Well, at the very least something smelled good. Enough in fact that he needed to investigate, despite his body feeling utterly trashed. Sitting up, throat screaming, back muscles tensed and also screaming, Otacon gave his eyes a second to focus. When they did, he saw Snake in front of the rusty stovetop, spatula in hand because he was cooking. Cooking. Snake. Cooking?

“Don't get up,” he called from the kitchenette, shuffling pots or pans or something loud. Otacon stayed put, maybe for the best considering the absolute reluctance of every back muscle he owned trying to so much as sit up. 

Even without glasses, Otacon knew he was witnessing an absolute spectacle when Snake approached him, plate of the best goddamn smelling pancakes he'd ever smelled in his 27 odd years in one hand and two mugs in the other. Snake handed him the plate and placed both mugs on the small coffee table between them. He disappeared into the fridge and emerged with a slice of cold pizza, and returned to sit on the floor beside the mattress. Not close, but not far either. 

“What…?” Otacon croaked. Fuck he sounded bad.

“You need something soft for your…” he gestured towards the plate. “I remember you liked the pancakes at that diner in Wichita.”

Fuck they were good, painful swallowing aside, though, Snake was right. They were soft. And the warmth felt good too. But

"Aren't you having some?" He rasped, hesitating on the next forkful. The pizza Snake nibbled on looked...less appetizing by comparison. 

The soldier furrowed his brow slightly, though careful to keep a neutral face.

"No, s'all yours," he said quietly.

For all of Snake's control, his delicately curated demeanor, he failed to hide the absolute guilt in his eyes or the way it hung over him like a shadow. It permeated the room, a looming stench, until Otacon couldn't take it anymore.

"Hey, Snake it's oka--"

"No," Snake snapped, flinching at the sound of his own voice. Otacon didn't feel quite as bad about his own flinch at least. “No,” he said again, softly this time. “It’s really not, Otacon. Okay? I’m not--”

He groaned, running fingernails through his scalp.

“I didn’t… This doesn’t fix anything and you don’t owe me an apology. I never should have laid my hands on you.”

Otacon swallowed involuntarily, regretting it instantly. “But you didn’t mean--”

“Doesn’t matter. If we’re going to be partners in this--if I’m asking you to trust me, I need to be worthy of that trust or we’re both fucked.”

Silence followed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, something Otacon appreciated deeply about their weird dynamic. But when he eventually broke that silence and met Snake’s eyes, he was relieved to find resolve there.

“Okay,” he’d said.

“Okay.” Snake said back. He meant it.

He wouldn’t let Otacon down. Of that, Otacon was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember kids, Solid Snake says you are responsible for your actions in spite of your trauma *shooting star noise*


	8. A Warm Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake is not the only one with skeletons in his closet.
> 
> TW for depressive/dissociative episodes and faintly implied self harm.

“I didn't know you had tattoos. Didn't peg you as the type,” Snake said, pointed look at Hal's arms.

Hal, not realizing Snake had returned from his run, froze mid-motion, suddenly all too aware of his circumstance: Hair sticking up, lines on his face, glasses crooked, oversized sweatpants barely hanging on to hips, one arm shoved into the very rumpled shirt he was currently in the process of putting on. Exposed. And turning red by the look of it.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Back in college I…” the thought imploded the second Snake was suddenly just there, holding Hal's arm up in his calloused hands, inspecting the ink up close. A gnawing panic bubbled under Hal's skin. Objectively there was nothing wrong with this, especially given their friendship, but even so, this was the kind of vulnerability Hal hated most. He felt so...puny. Well, in general but especially next to Solid fucking Snake. It was a lifelong demon he wrestled with, so certainly nothing new, but here and now without his baggy, long-sleeved armor, it felt too real. That and more than anything...he didn't want Snake to see all of his vulnerabilities.

With as much grace as he could muster, Hal slipped his arm out of Snake's grasp, opting instead for the long sleeved protection in his hands. 

Snake let Hal's arm slink away without protest, save a frown.

“I uh--need to brush my teeth--excuse me--” he muttered, pushing past the soldier and shutting (slamming) the door harder than he meant to.

Snake stood in the kitchen, under the dim, too-yellow lighting for several minutes, contemplating every detail of what had just happened. Of which there was a lot to unpack. 

Snake considered himself mostly socially capable, despite feeling uncomfortable in the majority of social circumstances. He was well aware of how awkward he was and the effect he tended to have on those around him. His silences were off putting, stature intimidating, stealthy movements creepy, face always sporting a natural frown, and his voice--low and harsh as it was--always sounded angry. He got it. And frankly, didn't mind it too much. That's why Alaska worked so well for him. And besides, dogs didn't judge.

The point being. He knew his social station. Knew it, understood it, accepted it. He was a deeply introspective, observant person--it was part of what made him such an effective spy. He knew the patterns, what to expect. When you observe someone long enough, you begin to understand how they think and act and why. And when you get to know them personally [irrelevant to most missions], the picture becomes clearer still.

Like with Hal. Nine months they've officially operated as a team, as Philanthropy. It was a first for Snake, and he guessed a first for Hal too. Teaming up for the long haul, no overseers or masters so to speak. And they were friends. Like actual friends, not just coworkers or teammates.

Not that it was surprising, but Snake was not technically versed in friendship and lacked legitimate experience. Really, he always assumed he wasn't equipped for friendship, let alone companionship of all things, hence Meryl, especially since he wasn't… _human_.

Well, he was wrong in any case. Hal was his friend. And it was so easy lately. 

But Hal had just recoiled and fled as if he couldn't get away fast enough. And here Snake was, beneath the too-yellow bulbs sizzling above, wondering what he'd done wrong.

But again, it had just been so easy. Not every part, but in general. He took an interest in Hal, and Hal to him. They talked about everything, even if it was Hal who did all the talking sometimes--because he knew, knew Snake liked to listen and not always participate. He knew that and didn't make a big deal out of it. And Snake did listen. To everything. When they talked about missions, film theories, conspiracies, music, childhood, weird dreams, Hal's obscure animes and obscurer explanations, when they would both gracelessly tiptoe around the topic of their fathers… 

It was comfortable. Dependable. It was

_Nice._

But.

Why hadn't Hal told him about the tattoos? It wasn't a big deal, but it felt strange. He considered all of the times he'd unashamedly walked around practically naked in the last 9 months, uncaring, and how Hal had never once appeared so much as shirtless. Snake hadn't noticed until now. Had he made Hal uncomfortable all along?

He sunk into one of the lawn chairs-turned-kitchen chairs and glared down at the aluminum table. Some grotesque 1970's reject that deserved the hate-filled stare. Not unlike himself, he thought, tasting a disdain he hadn't felt in a long time--at least not since the early days of partnering up with Hal.

The squeal of the shower caught his attention. 

Didn't he go in there to brush his teeth? Snake hadn't heard the faucet turn on at any point. Hal didn't mention a shower.

_This is why people think you're creepy_ , a voice in his head provided. He could wonder why it sounded like Liquid later, because right now. Right now he felt. Guilt. The worst human emotion. Guilt was unproductive and manipulable. It grew heavier with time. By the time an hour passed, its weight hurt. And Snake felt stupid for letting it.

Hal took long showers (and objected to Snake's teasing), but this was ridiculous. Objectively the water would be freezing cold by now, which he knew Hal hated, so theoretically this was not a routine or spontaneous shower, but perhaps a diversion to keep Snake away under the guise of personal hygiene.

_This isn't a mission. This is your friend._

Snake rose, padded his way over to the bathroom door. He listened for a moment. Steady shower stream, intermittent drip from the leaky tub faucet...and eventually he picked up on the breathing. It was slow, labored, and every few moments included a sharp inhale followed by a shudder. Something wasn't right. Hal wasn't ok. Snake hurt him somehow and needed to fix it. Or maybe he was sick, or who knows. Whatever it was, it didn't feel right.

He knocked once, keeping a careful restraint on the force he exerted, but heard nothing--no changes in sound and no response. After exactly 60 seconds, he knocked again, upping the force slightly and calling out Hal's name. Same result. 

“Hal. Are you okay?” Nothing.

After the fifth attempt, Snake's patience was waning. Was he mad? This passive aggressive shit wasn't Hal's style, and damn if it wasn't frustrating.

“That's it,” he muttered, taking the very much locked brass knob in hand and twisting until he heard a _pop!_ He pushed, ignoring the high pitched clack of the knob hitting the tile floor. 

Whatever Snake expected was nothing like the sight that met him. It genuinely stopped him in his tracks before he could approach.

“Hal?”

Hal didn't move, just continued to clutch his knees and shake under the icy stream. 

“Hal?” Snake sank to his haunches to meet his friend's eyes, but the engineer's face was mostly tucked into his knees, eyes cast downwards. 

Oh. He knew that look, or lack thereof, intimately.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching forward. He doubted Hal had a violent recoil when he dissociated, but he knew slow, obvious movements were more appropriate than sudden action. He could handle whatever Hal threw his way in terms of retaliation, but the principle remained and besides, Hal always respected his boundaries.

Here and now, however, Hal did nothing. In fact he didn't even really seem to register Snake's presence, let alone the frigid spray that rained down. Jesus. His clothing clung to him in heavy, sopping clumps and fuck, he was absolutely going to get sick. 

“Come on,” Snake leaned in, cutting the water flow before he gently plucked Hal's glasses from their precarious spot on the young man's nose. He folded them neatly and awkwardly stretched backwards to deposit them on the sink counter (they were a pain to replace--Mei Ling could send for them no problem but it took a while each time). When Snake returned to his perch, Hal had curled into himself further, hiding his face completely now, arms covering his head. 

“Hal…”

From under shivering, goosebumped arms, the engineer shook his head and moaned.

“Go away.”

There wasn't much weight to it, sounding more distant than anything else.

Snake frowned, exhaling a low grunt. Well this wouldn't do. He leaned in again, placing a hand on Hal's shoulder, hating the cold squelch it made. Hal groaned in protest. Snake could hear his teeth chatter.

“I'll leave you alone, but you can't stay here like this” Snake wrapped his arms around Hal in a bear hug. He slipped an arm under his knees and hoisted the wet lump that was Dr. Hal Emmerich into the air, up against his chest, ignoring the fact that he was now also soaked through. Hal didn't protest this time, opting instead to cling to Snake, burrowing into the embrace and shivering all the while.

Snake squeezed back, managing to grab a towel hanging nearby with a free finger. With ease, he clutched Hal, cold and dripping, and walked from the bathroom, through the living space, to the bedroom (again, that Hal had offered to Snake). First flumping the towel onto the mattress, Snake lowered his friend's shaking form to sit on the bed's edge. A surprised noise left his throat when Hal didn't unlatch his arms from Snake's neck, keeping his head buried in the soldier's chest as he tried to pull away. Snake heard Hal mutter _“warm”_ into his clavicle. He put a hand on Hal's back.

“I know. Just for a second. You need dry clothes.” He managed to unhook himself, grabbing a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a black pair of sweatpants (what? He didn't have a problem) knowing full well Hal would be swimming in each item, but at least they would be warm.

Hal sat, lost in whatever haze this was, and Snake felt a surge of pity in his chest when he turned back to the engineer. This wasn't like Hal at all. Yeah, he was a squirrelly mess most of the time, but he seemed relatively self assured and confident in his ability to be a fucking genius, the obvious powerhouse behind their joint operation. Snake knew the basis of Hal's shitty childhood, and he definitely felt the unspoken bond between their shared daddy issues (Hal's words, not his), but there was a devastating truth behind this kind of behavior that Snake knew all too well. 

Oh. 

No, not pity. _Empathy._ That sore ache in his heart, seeing the best friend he's ever had wrestle with the demons of an ugly past, knowing exactly what that feels like.

_Oh._

He padded back to Hal, clothes in hand. He felt… He just felt. And it was so raw.

“Here,” he reached for Hal's shirt but stopped short, placing the clean articles on the bed beside him. “I'll go and yeah.”

Five minutes in the kitchen felt like an hour. And about 30 seconds in, Snake knew he needed to tinker with his hands or he would actually pace a hole in the sticky linoleum, so he decided maybe he would cook. Hal could use something warm and he loved those stupid noodle cups, or maybe tea? Yeah--he could make tea. He rifled through cabinets searching for those little packets Hal liked until he heard a thump come from the bedroom, wherein he raced back in roughly three strides. When the fuck had he gotten so on edge?

Hal was indeed draped in Snake's garb, hood pulled up over his head, casting a deep shadow over his face. It made him look gaunt. His own damp clothes were tied up in the towel, a ball on the floor--the thump, Snake assumed.

“...m sorry. I'll go,” the engineer's voice was just a hair above a whisper, his movements slow and intoxicated.

Snake approached slowly and knelt, placing his hands on Hal's shoulders. “No, take the bed. It's warmer.” God, he just looked so tired.

Whatever Snake expected, it wasn't Hal leaning forward into his arms. Of course he caught him, and yeah it made his chest ache, and _yeah_ it hurt like a bitch the way Hal sighed into his chest, sounding so fucking broken. He hated a great many things on this fucked up planet, but maybe none more than Hal's anguish that very moment. It was a helplessness far removed from how helpless he seemed the day they first met. 

He gave Hal a firm squeeze and the young man relaxed, muttering something about "warm" again.

Alright. At least he could put his freakish and otherwise abysmal body heat to good use. Funny, for as much as Snake hated feeling overheated on a regular basis, he'd always liked how it made lovers draw near. Not Hal, obviously. But regardless, being the weapon he was, it was just nice to be someone's quiet comfort by merely existing. No stakes required. Just pure warmth.

Snake kept the embrace, using it to lift Hal and deposit him under the covers, tucking them around the still shivering engineer. The soldier remained on top of the bedding but laid beside Hal, curling up to be the big spoon. Hal sighed again, but there was relief in his tone this time, a welcome sound. It surprised Snake, just how comfortable this was. 

He wondered if it felt the same for Hal, who was asleep not a moment later. Snake wasn't far behind. It occurred to him that he hadn't yet showered after his run and he hoped he didn't stink for Hal's sake. Oh well. Probably smarter to wait for hot water to return anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowee two chapters in one night?? I owe it all to the power going out and needing to charge my phone at the nearest 24 hour dunkin donuts. Aka mama got shit done
> 
> Sorry if this chapter seems a bit vague - it will directly relate to an upcoming chapter that will reveal many things.
> 
> This fanfic brought to you by _**Letting Men Be Soft and Emotional**_


	9. The Background World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tfw you have to pick up your crush to go see your ex and your ex's crush who's also your crush's best friend, i.e., The Gang's Back Together and Shit's Awkward.

"Sorry I'm late. It wasn't traffic, I just suck as a person," Meryl muttered, running a stubby-nailed hand through her hair, twice its usual size thanks to Very Humid Georgia in July. She looked... damp. It made more sense when Mei Ling hopped into the rusty SUV. Ah, no air conditioning.

"It's no problem," she smiled, opting to throw her hair up. "Do you need directions? The restaurant isn't far."

"Nah, I'm good," Meryl tried not to pant openly like a dog. _Fuck this heat_ , she grumbled in her head, vowing to bust the balls of any asshole audacious enough to lock their dog in a car in this shit. Mei Ling's gentle hums brought her back, realizing how broody she must look while her friend just smiled contentedly. What a pair they were.

"It'll be good to see them. I video chat with them regularly, especially Otacon, but it will be nice to finally have my best friends around me. You know I've never actually met Otacon in person--and Snake I haven't seen since before Shadow Moses…"

It was peaceful, listening to Mei Ling ramble on and on. Her voice was soft and kind and radiated this dauntless positivity that somehow wasn't disgusting. It wasn't fake. It was...sweet.

"What about you, Mer?"

Meryl sputtered and swerved the car, forcing a laugh to hopefully play it off cool.

"Sorry, what?"

And of course Mei was smiling.

"When's the last time you saw them?" 

Well.

"Shadow Moses," she said flatly. Maybe she got away with it.

Mei tilted her head like _fucking puppy_ , and no, Meryl did not get away with it.

"Oh, I thought you and Snake left together. I'm sorry, I guess I thought you and he…" She flushed and looked away, embarrassed by her little faux pa, the sweet little thing. Meryl sighed. She hated dredging up the past but honestly, she hated making Mei Ling uncomfortable even more.

"Yeah," she said with a little more pep than was perhaps strictly necessary. "It might be better that you know beforehand anyway. In case, you know, there's tension or something." In her periphery she could see Mei mouth the words, a silent echo. _Tension_. "I did leave with Snake after Shadow Moses...and you're right, I kinda shacked up with him in Alaska. But it didn't work out, so I left."

When the quiet became too loud, Meryl risked a glance and had to swerve again because _oh god_ Mei Ling looked fucking terrified.

"Meryl! Oh my god--why didn't you tell me--oh I'm so sorry!" She placed a hand on Meryl's sticky shoulder. "I wouldn't have arranged this had I known. I would feel so awkward--oh man." She hid behind her hands and, situation aside, Meryl was just so charmed.

The redhead ran a hand through her locks again, trying to ignore how gross her scalp felt.

"Hey, Mei it's really okay. I promise I would have told you if I wasn't up to it, but I am." It was mostly true anyway. She hadn't left Snake on the best terms per se, but not on the worst either. It would be good to see him, see how he's been. And Otacon was Otacon, so. "Besides, I wanna see if those two knuckleheads are getting along. I wonder if Snake has beaten the weeb outta that guy yet."

Mei's laugh came as a surprise and Meryl furrowed her brow. 

"Getting along? Mer the last time I called Otacon he left his channel on by accident, and when I came home from my night class they were in their underwear, rocking out to Billy Idol. Air guitars and everything." She beamed.

Uh.

"Snake. Air guitaring. With Otacon. Underwear." Mei Ling nodded, punctuating every pause. "What the fuck." She tried to picture it and just could not.

"It was the cutest thing," Mei's bun flopped around her head as she gushed. “I just love them.”

Meryl huffed--a double effort since it blew her bangs out of her eye. " _Cute_ or incriminating?"

"No, just cute! Trust me." Her smile looked a little suspicious but Meryl backed off the urge to inquire. "And besides, it's nice to see them having fun. So many of their missions are, uh, grim." 

"Grim? How so?"

But Mei waved her off, smile still tinged with something, but beautiful nonetheless. "I'm sure Snake will tell you all about them. I don't think I could do them justice. Oh hey, that's the restaurant!"

Sure enough, in the pothole peppered lot sat a decidedly inconspicuous car with two familiar heads. Bobbing. To Bowie's _I’m Afraid of Americans_ , to be specific.

"I need a drink," Meryl muttered, parking the car, not bothering to roll the windows up while Mei Ling all but flung her seatbelt off. In a flash she was out of the car and leaping into Snake's arms, much to Snake's surprise (though of course he caught her easily).

"It's been so long!" she sang, arms squeezed tightly around the soldier's neck. 

"Hi Mei," he said quietly and squeezed back gently, just before he met Meryl's gaze.

Oh boy.

Well, he looked good. Minus the mullet at least. What was he thinking letting that thing live on his head?

When Mei let go of Snake, she reached up and touched the shaggy brown locks at the base of his neck. He muttered something and Mei just giggled, announcing, "I love it! You look like a rock star," and okay, Snake actually blushed at that.

Otacon lingered by the car, an anxious air around him as he fidgeted. Meryl had to admit, nerd boy didn't look too bad. Still a twig but maybe Snake had managed to slap some meat on his bones. And he wasn't pasty pale either. Just regular pale. She guessed maybe he just looked healthy overall--stark comparison to the malnourished egghead she met slaving away at Shadow Moses. His face bloomed red when Mei Ling then launched herself at him, a loud "oof" knocked out of his lungs. But to his credit, he hugged back emphatically once he recovered. And alright, that was pretty cute. 

Mei was shouting "IT'S SO WONDERFUL TO MEET YOU" at Otacon just as Snake approached.

He looked Meryl in the eyes, a little sheepish, but not sad, not angry. Maybe even a little happy if that was possible for him.

"Hi," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets, turning to stand beside Meryl instead of face to face. 

They watched as Mei squeezed the life out of Otacon, and how he obviously _loved_ it, squeezing back and laughing. The two nerds (though Meryl would never say it to Mei's face) gabbed on and on about something or another, computers or some shit, as silence grew between the two soldiers.

"So," Meryl crossed her arms and huffed, "what's with the rat's nest?"

Snake raised an eyebrow and cocked a nearly discernible grin (again, what the fuck).

"Philanthropy only adopted certain military regulations, not all. Besides, Mei likes it."

Fighting the urge to actually roll her eyes, Meryl settled for an annoyed sigh, hopeful it hid her amusement (it did not). "Mei likes everyone and everything. Exhibit A." She gestured vaguely at the frankly adorable scene not 30 feet away. 

"Of course she likes him. Hal's great." 

Her eyebrows shot up as she turned to face him fully. Here we go.

"Hal? You're on a real name basis? What the fuck?" She wasn't mad per say but seriously, what the fuck? "Does _he_ get to call you David?"

To his credit, Snake looked completely unbothered, his classic neutral expression still annoying as ever. And worse even, he almost looked...fond?

"Yes. We're partners in an anti-terrorist organization on the run from the U.S. government, so trust is kind of a necessity."

The audacity.

"We fucked for a month, didn't that involve trust?" Man, did she want to smack the thoughtful, calculating look off his face. Or kiss it. Or laugh at it. It was hard to tell.

"A different kind maybe. I trusted you wouldn't try to kill me in my sleep."

"You almost never slept."

"Neither did you."

A silence grew between them for a moment, seeping full of the tension she warned Mei Ling about.

"When did you get so fucking sassy," she muttered, running her nails through her hair again, ignoring the moistness there. 

This was so stupid. 

"What happened, Snake?"

That at least seemed to catch him off guard, judging by the eyes. 

"You left," he said, regarding her carefully, but familiar. She saw no animosity, no anger. Maybe the tiniest smidge of sadness, or was she projecting? Maybe it was genuine concern in his cerulean eyes.

"You weren't okay." _Back then. At the cabin. Every sleepless night and brooding day that blended into each other, littered with glass bottles and quiet despair._

Snake looked at her, and then in rare form, down. But eventually his eyes settled back on Otacon and Mei, still happily exchanging stories and lore.

"I wasn't," he said, low.

Meryl watched him, feeling her shoulders begin to release whatever weight they carried. 

"And now?"

"Better," he said, watching their friends. "Maybe even good." He looked back to Meryl, offering an open expression, a lighter color on his face. Maybe he _was_ okay.

"Well," she yawned after a moment, stretching her arms over her head, cracking a few joints in the process. "Let's get this party started I guess." 

She nudged him and they both stepped from their post, heading back to their crew as it were. And this time the silence between her and Snake felt more comfortable. It felt easy, and it had never felt easy in Alaska. Maybe they were just too similar when it came down to it. Whatever their designated "type" was, emotionally stunted meatheads perhaps, distinguished geekery seemed to complement them better anyway. 

Mei Ling was just finishing the sentence "EVEN MORE HANDSOME IN PERSON" and Otacon was actually about to pass away by the look of it. Snake strolled up behind him, lightly slapping his shoulder, making the poor nerd yelp before swatting Snake away. 

"My handsome friends!" Mei crooned, hugging them both and okay, Meryl actually had to fight off the warm fuzzies threatening to spill out. 

"Can the orgy wait, because I'm fucking starving," she groaned, maybe a little too dramatic, but it wasn't entirely a lie since she skipped breakfast.

"Hi Meryl," Otacon squeaked at her and she flashed him a grin with a quick _sup dude_ , because alright, Otacon must actually be pretty cool if he made Snake so pleasant (i.e. happy). And admittedly his squirrelly nature was kind of adorable. Adorkable? Heh.

Well, this would be interesting if not a total disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Meryl's perspective! She is pure fire imo and I love her. And Mei Ling is Mei Ling, AKA perfect in every way <3
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I know I've been uploading with sudden frequency lately - I'm just taking advantage of some time off, so hopefully it's not too much too soon. 
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> **SNAKE AND OTACON ROCK OUT IN THEIR UNDIES IT'S CANON BYE**  
> 


	10. The Line Begins to Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape and Octagon go thrifting and talk about _sExUaLiTy_ hoo boy. 
> 
> Well, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I OOP it's been three months ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Sorry guys, it's been... a rough time. For what it's worth, this fic is always brewing in the back of my mind. If you can put up with my random absences (brought to you by Depression™), I promise this story will go somewhere. Thank you as always for your comments that make me scream and write incoherent replies! ily <3
> 
> Enjoy & stay tuned! Tell you friends! Tell your grandma! Tell your gynecologist! Snake and Otacon are G A Y

"Is it true what Ocelot said--about you...liking men?"

Snake looked up from the rack of mangled hangers and mismatched t-shirts, nondescript black shirt in hand. It was reminiscent of the nondescript (and blessedly empty) secondhand shop they'd stumbled upon. Although they typically avoided public spaces, it was necessary risk to discard and restock a small wardrobe regularly, even if they mostly grabbed the same items each time. Snake tended to favor plain garments--blues and blacks and tans and grays, perhaps reminiscent of old fatigues. There was a comfort in neutrality, in being average. Civilian camouflage as it were. It almost made him feel _normal_ \--

"Not exclusively, but yeah. Big Boss was bisexual so," he trailed off, hoping he didn't sound too curt. "Pretty sure Liquid was too, so I'm not really sure what Ocelot was talking about with the 'lesser genes' and all."

Otacon held a few choice tees in hand, all black, most with graphics Snake would ask him about later, although he recognized one of the band logos. The engineer stood on the other side of the rack, pawing absently at the mediums as Snake faced the extra larges. He shot Snake a quizzical look.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I thought it was obvious, him and Mantis."

He couldn't help the snort that followed when Hal looked at him like that.

" _Psycho Mantis_?"

"Yup."

It wasn't the five stages of grief he saw flicker across Hal's features, it just coincidentally started with denial and ended with a certain flavor of reluctant acceptance.

"Well, shows what I know I guess," he muttered, continuing the hunt. "Just seemed like the type to want a harem or something, all macho and stuff."

Snake kept pace with him, descending the aisle together, separated only by a row of dingy garments.

"Is that how you see me? All macho and stuff?" He pulled a blue shirt from the hoard, stuffing it back immediately once he saw the _SUN’S OUT GUNS OUT_ print on the front.

Hal stopped, regarding him with a devious stare.

"Now that's hardly fair," he wielded an empty hanger, pointed it at the soldier. "If I say yes, you'll say I'm calling you an asshole. If I say no, I'm calling you feminine. Either way you slice it, I'm the bad guy."

Snake smiled. "Well?" He caught the hanger as it hurled towards him, cheesing even harder. Hal was so easy. "What's wrong with being feminine?"

"Nothing!" The red in his cheeks was vibrant as he sputtered. "I happen to think everyone has a combination of both, thank you very much."

"Even me?"

Alright, maybe he deserved that eye roll.

"Yes, _Dave_ , even you." Funny, his heart rate spiked a little whenever Hal used his real name--a thought he filed away for later. "If you really want my answer--no, I don't think you're like Liquid. Your machismo isn't… _gross_. You're a decent person. For the most part. Besides, gender's a bunch'a socio-political conformist bullshit anyway--I mean talk about longform propaganda. And don’t even get me _started_ on religion--"

A pained laugh hid the blush that threatened to surface.

"Decent huh? You really know how to make a guy feel special, Hal."

This time, Snake let the hanger hit him. He figured he owed Hal that much.


	11. The Frail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Slower this time, he sat up and scooted off the bed. He didn't remember taking off his glasses, but there they laid, folded neatly on the bedside table. Of Snake's bed. In Snake's room. Had he...stolen Snake's bed?_
> 
> (Picking up the pieces. Continuation from "A Warm Place")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW for heavily implied self harm**
> 
> Jumping back a bit to add context. Our boys are fucked up :/ But hey, at least they have each other.

The first thing Hal registered upon waking, other than the ugly pounding he felt behind his eyes, was the incredible humiliation. He hadn't experienced an episode like that in… And the ones at Shadow Moses were different anyway. He was being held captive after all, which

It didn't matter. His brain felt too big for his skull, and the fucking _throbbing_. Ugh. That was one for the books, he thought, piecing the memory apart, and _ohmygod Snake_ was--he--

He sat up quicker than his head could follow and shit, was he hung over? Wouldn't make much difference, he mused coldly. But fuck he needed to explain or something to Snake--damage control, anything. God, if he thought Hal was weak before…

Slower this time, he sat up and scooted off the bed. He didn't remember taking off his glasses, but there they laid, folded neatly on the bedside table. Of Snake's bed. In Snake's room. Had he... _stolen Snake's bed_?

The intoxicating, sweet aroma of coffee found him, and well, no point in avoiding the inevitable, he supposed, swallowing, wincing, and moving to open the door. So this was how Philanthropy would end. Not with their violent and inevitable deaths, but because of Hal's fucked up mental health. Great.

There Snake was, at the counter, washing two mugs in the sink as coffee dripped quietly. 

Now or never.

“Good uh--whatever?” It was dark out. Shit. 

Snake glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow up, amused. Well, he didn't look angry or uncomfortable at least, but he also didn't say anything. Hal took a seat at the table, guessing Snake would still be a few minutes, which was plenty of time for Hal to think himself into a panic. 

“I'm sorry--last night or morning or whatever I just--I didn't mean to--I--wait are these _your clothes_?” Suddenly aware of the too big pants and sweatshirt on his form, Hal sat agape. “Did I...steal your clothes _and_ your room? Snake, I didn't--”

And there Snake was, two coffees in hand. He sat across from Hal, placing one of the mugs in front of his short-circuiting partner. 

“No,” he said evenly. Kindly, even. “I offered both to you.”

Hal, bleary and wide-eyed, wondered if he looked as mortified as he felt. “Why?” It was the only question his brain could produce in the moment, stupid as it was.

“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

What in the fuck? Hal mashed his face into his hands and groaned.

Snake took a slow sip of his coffee, still steaming hot. He held the mug in both hands on the table, so glaringly unbothered by anything while Hal wasn't sure if he was even awake or not.

“Hal.”

Oh shit. First name status. Why--?

“You don't have to tell me about last night. You can if you want to, but it's alright if you don't.” 

Oh.

He continued, “I'm sorry if I upset you or made you uncomfortable, no matter what it was. I just wanted you to know that.” 

_Oh._

Hal knew-- _knew_ his face was red, the burn in his cheeks damn near hurt. Snake never broke eye contact, even between Hal's fingers, likely wanting Hal to read it as serious, and of course he did, but having this kind of intensity, this attention, made him squirm. That and he was struggling to keep up. 

Snake had. He just. That was...That was the most sincere apology he'd ever received in his life. Ever. And it came from a jaded killer--from Solid fucking Snake, no less.

Vaguely he heard the words _not this again_ in his still-pounding head and he felt his eyes begin to water and sting. Any emotional stamina he'd had was vaporized last night--this was just too

“Hey,” Snake said, reaching out, laying a hand on Hal's arm. How could Snake's voice possibly sound that soft? “Do you want me to leave? It's okay if you do. I don't mind.”

Hal peered up from his hands, panicked suddenly, a different flavor of panic.

“Don't,” he said, maybe too quickly. Relief swelled in his throat when Snake didn't take his hand away, and he realized that was something he'd feared. “It's just,” he swallowed and tapped his foot, releasing his clenched jaw when he felt Snake's hand give a gentle squeeze. It's alright, he seemed to say. 

“I just wish someone had told me that. A long time ago,” Hal eventually managed, and the absolute understanding reflecting in his friend's eyes… It was more than that. Kindred melancholy born only of a mutually lived experience, no matter where or how long ago or by whom. Here and now, they were the same, and the realization knocked the fucking wind out of Hal.

They stayed that way for longer than seemed casual, but Hal really didn't care. He'd already considered Snake to be his best friend, and yeah when you were on the run from your own government and from terrorists bent on enslaving you for Metal Gear Building Purposes, it's not like there were many friends to choose from. But this felt so much deeper, and fuck that sounded so gay, but it was fucking true. It felt like fucking destiny--who they were, who their fathers were, two very broken men with fucked up pasts teaming up, traversing the globe together, risking their lives to undo the very evils that created them. No fucking way that was a coincidence.

“I don't believe in coincidences,” Snake said and Hal realized he'd given that entire speech. Out loud. To Snake. Oh for the love of--why'd he fucking use the word _gay_?

Snake finally relinquished his hand from Hal's arm, not so much in recoil as to give Hal some space to think. “You're the best friend I've ever had, Hal,” he said, looking down and hating how weak he felt for it. “Almost like there's some fucked up plan at work and someone's pulling the strings.”

Hal's face and ears and scalp must have been beet red judging by the way they felt, still reeling from how he'd literally just spilled the beans about his stupid conspiracy. But hell, Snake was on board it seemed.

“If god is real, he sucks,” Hal muttered, enjoying the small wave of confidence that washed over him when Snake laughed in response. 

“A fucking asshole, but merciful enough to stick us together,” Snake still favored his hands with this gaze.

What was redder than beet red? Hal was it, whatever it was. Suddenly the coffee in front of him became incredibly important, still steaming pleasantly from under his chin. He took a gulp, grateful he'd reached a point in his life where no temperature of coffee could possibly phase him. 

“Guess this is the part where we sing Kumbaya around the fire, huh?” As if Hal could let an awkward silence linger without ruining it somehow. Worth it considering the chuckle his partner exhaled. It was surreal, seeing Snake this way. Awkward, unsure. They did just bare their souls after all. And the fact that he could bare his soul to Snake…

“Dave?” He asked and Snake, Dave met his gaze immediately, very much alert. Hal looked at his own hands and sighed. He felt... Well,

Dave's eyes flickered, surprised to see Hal carefully rolling up his sleeves.

“Hey, you don't have to--” he stopped short when Hal raised a hand, a gentle power in the gesture. 

“No, it's alright. I want to,” Hal said, taking a deep breath. “I want to, for me, if you don't mind.” He didn't really understand the amazed look on Dave's face, the reverence in his eyes.

Safe. That was the word. He felt safe. Dave made him feel safe. Safe enough for this.

Once both sweater sleeves were rolled comfortably, Hal let out a sigh and laid his arms out on the table, wrists facing up for Dave's purview. He looked to Hal again, eyes a silent question of permission. An out, if Hal needed it. It made the lithe man want to smile. Instead, he nodded.

“You can touch, if you want.”

Dave let the gaze linger a moment before descending it to Hal's offered arms. 

Admittedly, there was a part of Hal nervous for what Dave would think. What it he laughed. What if Hal had made such a ridiculous buildup for something ultimately pathetic and unworthy. What if Dave thought his tattoos were utterly stupid, nerdy as they were. Stylized motherboard on one arm, lines of binary on the other.

Then again, he wasn't surprised that Dave didn't laugh. He would actually appreciate the gravity and what it meant to Hal. Because he was Dave. 

It didn't take long for Dave to really see. And when he did, he looked up again, something in his eyes Hal couldn't place before looking down again. After a beat of hesitation, he reached out and touched Hal's skin with a gentility that made Hal hold his breath. Dave's fingertips were weightless, ghosting old trails down the length of the Hal's arms, back and forth. 

Strange, Hal thought, how rough and calloused Dave's hands were, how they tickled slightly, how sensitive they felt grazing along scar tissue. Funny how neither were quite sure how long it went on.

Eventually Hal shivered and Dave retracted his hands, returning them to his still warm mug. The expression on his face was less than clear and Hal felt a familiar pang of panic, just before the inevitable rejection 

that never came. There was introspection there, critical thought, no whiff of betrayal. 

"How long ago?"

Hal didn't remember rolling his sleeves back up.

"Ten years maybe. Maybe 11," when did his throat get so dry. "Stopped after I left home." Was that heartbreak in Dave's eyes?

Dave was up before Hal could register his absence. He placed a cup of water in front of Hal right as Hal began to wonder why things were blurring together. Water helped. Maybe that was harder than Hal thought it would be, showing Dave. But he was glad he did. It was good. Dave didn't let him down and Hal loved him for it.

Hal looked at his shoulder where Dave was squeezing his arm gently in response. Oh. Guess he was monologuing out loud again. He really needed to get that under control before he _really_ made an ass of himself or spilled more pathetic secrets.

Dave laughed and flashed a crooked smile Hal's way, which whoa when did Dave smile, but also _shut up Hal, jesus christ_.

"Your secrets are safe with me. Not like you don't know plenty of mine already anyway," Dave's grin faded to an awkward line and absently he scratched the back of his head.

This silence was more palpable. Hal spent it downing the rest of the water and then turning his attention to the remaining coffee until Dave spoke, startling him slightly.

"Scars aren't a sign of weakness, you know," he said, gruff as ever, and Hal felt his face heating up again. Dave was looking into his fucking soul and it was impossible not to fidget. "They're signs of survival."


End file.
